Truth or Dare
by GeekOfAwesome
Summary: A snowstorm leads to boredom in 221 B, so John suggests playing Truth or Dare! Smut, non est relationship. Johnlock, naturally :D Please read responsibly.


**My first Johnlock fic! Smut and sexiness will ensue!**

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John and Sherlock had been outside during a case, inspecting a murder, when the first few flakes of snow drifted down. John had frowned and nudged Sherlock. "I think we should be going- there was a forecast of a snowstorm for today." He said softly. "But..." Sherlock started, then noted the air temperature and nodded. John knew that Sherlock was going to be sulking for the rest of the day, but as long as they didn't get snowed out, he would be fine.

John was now sitting on the couch, his off white jumper on. His legs were tucked underneath him with a blanket on top, and a steaming mug of tea was on the coffee table next to him. He had a classic novel open on his lap, and was feeling quite comfortable and relaxed. The battering snow against the outside of the flat was falling fast and fiercely, but he had drawn the curtains and the snow made next to no noise. It was serene and peaceful. This usually didn't happen often in 221 B, and he was very grateful for the time.

And then Sherlock appeared.

The dark haired detective was, naturally, bored. He'd taken a warm shower after a large pile of snow had fallen on top of him from the edge of a roof. At the moment, Sherlock was bored and irritated. He strode into the living room and flopped down in his chair, a grumpy look on his face. "Bored!" He proclaimed loudly, looking expectantly over at John.

The blonde sighed and looked up from his book. "What do you expect me to do about it?" He asked. "Something." Sherlock folded his arms over his chest. John chewed on his lower lip. "Fine. Truth or dare?" He asked, dog-earing the page of his book and setting it down.

"What?" Sherlock asked, looking bewildered. "Truth or dare. It's a game. You reply truth or dare- if you pick truth, I ask a question that you have to answer truthfully. If you pick dare, then I get to dare you to do something. And after you complete either of those things, then you ask me and we continue." John explained, readjusting the blanket around him. "Oh." Sherlock frowned. "That seems very personal." He muttered, tucking his legs up to his chest.

"Truth or dare?" John asked again, a slight grin breaking out over his face. Sherlock pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly trying to figure out what the results of either answer could be and which one would be a bigger problem. "Dare." He finally settled on, deciding that at least then he could keep his secrets. John hummed a little to himself, thinking about it. "I dare you to..." He trailed off, having no idea of what to say.

"You don't even know what it is you're going to dare me to do? Honestly, John." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's harder than you think! You know, I bet there's an app for this." John picked up his phone and went to the appstore, typing in 'truth or dare', the keys on his screen making loud clacking noises. "Apps make people so lazy. You can't even come up with a proper dare without one. It's lowering your creativity." Sherlock pressed his fingertips together and held them to his lips, leaning forward to study John. "I don't need an app. I can hardly wait for my turn." He smirked.

John looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "I'm scared now. Oh, it's finished downloading. Hang on..." He opened the app. "Alright, let me find a dare. Here's one- describe me in less than ten words." He crossed his legs and leaned back. Sherlock hardly thought for a moment before speaking again. "Loyal, thoughtful, considerate, brave, wise, kind, my best friend. Nine words." He nodded. John blinked a few times, surprised at the flattering description.

Sherlock smiled, somewhat wickedly. "Alright. My turn. Truth or dare?" He asked. "Truth." John said immediately. He had always felt more secure about picking truth- he wasn't uncomfortable with sharing things. "Who is _your _best friend?" Sherlock asked, eyes wide and curious, looking strangely like a child. "You, of course." John rolled his eyes. "Truth or dare?" He continued. "Hm... I think truth this time." Sherlock said, pleased with John's answer.

John consulted his app. "Who is your least favourite person?" He asked. Sherlock looked conflicted for a moment. "Oh, there are so many." He complained. "I can't decide. Truth or dare?" He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. "That's a terrible answer and dare." John sighed.

"Give me your phone, I want to see what it has to say." Sherlock reached his hand across the gap between them, and John put his phone in his palm. Sherlock looked down at it, a scandalized look coming across his face. "It says 'give the player to your left an 'auntie kiss'. Use lipstick or lipbalm and leave a print.'" He read aloud. John broke out in laughter. "You serious?" He asked between laughs. "The phone said so." Sherlock replied, looking stoic as always.

John's eyes widened. "I... I don't have lipstick." He said. Sherlock stood up and walked to the kitchen. "I have a makeup bag." He replied casually. "What?" John turned to look at him, furrowing his brow. "For disguises." He huffed, selecting some red lipstick from the bag. "You need lipstick for disguises sometimes." Sherlock tossed the metal tube to John, who caught it and looked down at in incredulously. "It's very good for fake wounds." Sherlock elaborated, sitting next to John instead of across from him.

"And you're seriously alright with me doing this?" John asked, glancing down at the lipstick and trying not to break into laughter again. "The phone issued the dare- the rules say you have to follow it." The detective leaned back against the couch, looking expectant. John snickered as he applied a thin layer of red lipstick to his lips, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek, leaving the imprint of a pair of lips. The moment he was done, he stood up and walked over to the sink, pouring some water on a paper towel and wiped the lipstick off.

Sherlock was sitting very still on the couch, reaching his hand up and touching the lipstick mark. He suddenly let out a burst of uncharacteristic laughter. "This game is ridiculous. Surreal, even. I love it. I pick dare." He picked up a small wipe from his makeup bag and neatly wiped the mark away.

The game continued with more dares than truths- Sherlock eskimo kissed John, Sherlock did 25 push ups and could have easily done more (which John was rather impressed by), John held his breath for sixty seconds, and Sherlock did the opening verse to The Phantom of the Opera. In the truth department, John found out that Sherlock was afraid of being burned alive and Sherlock was told by John that he loved brunettes.

"Alright, alright, what is your favourite animal?" John asked. They were both smiling broadly. "The huon tree kangaroo and the hedgehog. Truth or dare?" Sherlock replied. "Wait, what?" John asked. "Huon. Tree. Kangaroo. They're like large brown and tan teddy bears- they live in Australia." Sherlock explained. "Truth or dare?" He asked again. John grinned. "Dare."

"Every time someone asks you to do something, for the next 24 hours, you must say 'do you want fries with that?'" Sherlock read off of the phone. John shook his head. "Absolutely not. Pick another one." Sherlock sighed and scrolled through the dares again. "Snog the other player." He dared. John's eyes widened. "No way does it say that." He reached his hand to grab it away from Sherlock, who held it away. "It's a dare, you have to do it." He smirked. John frowned. "It's an American made game, they don't say snog." He grabbed the phone away from Sherlock.

"I didn't say the phone dared you to. I dared you to." Sherlock looked at John smugly, who stammered for a moment. After contemplating for a few seconds, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Sherlock's. He held their lips together for about fifteen seconds, then pulled away. A red blush spread out over his cheeks and ears. "So... um... truth or... or dare?" He asked.

Sherlock tapped his chin. "Dare." He said it a bit differently now, almost like he was challenging John. The blonde chewed on his lower lip, picking up the phone and turning it off, figuring they were past using it now. "I dare you to... snog _me_." He reciprocated. Sherlock moved forward and put his hands on John's shoulders, pushing him back into the armrest and taking his lips in a fierce, needy kiss.

It was like no kiss John had ever had before, mostly because Sherlock wasn't the sort of person who you would ever expect to kiss you. His lips seemed to overpower the blonde, passionate and hungry. His tongue, hot and wet, soon entered the short blonde's mouth. John made a muffled noise, then closed his eyes and kissed weakly back.

After about a minute and a half, Sherlock released John, who laid back, breathing heavily. "_That_ is snogging." Sherlock said with a satisfied smirk on his face. John's eyes flew open, wide and shocked. "So, truth or dare?" He continued. John took a moment to recover from the assault, then sat up, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. "Uh... um... um... truth." He decided. Sherlock crossed his legs. "Do you have feelings for me?" He asked in a calm and nonchalant tone.

John took a few seconds, then nodded slowly. "Shouldn't that question have come before we snogged?" He asked. Sherlock chuckled. "I wanted to see your reaction before I asked. Dilated pupils, accelerated pulse rate, uneven breathing, blood rush to your cheeks and ears, and I suspect somewhere else." He chuckled, moving forward and winding his arms around John's torso. John squirmed a bit- this was moving far too fast. He could hardly process what was going on.

"T-truth or dare?" He stammered. "Dare." Sherlock murmured in a low, husky tone. John pursed his lips- he could tell Sherlock to slow down, to stop and talk about this, figure out what was going on between them, something like that. "I dare you to strip for me." He said. Where had that come from? What the hell, John? He thought angrily to himself. Sherlock smirked. "With pleasure." He unwound his arms from John and started to slowly pull off his clothes.

He started at the top of his shirt, flicking the buttons apart one by one, revealing each inch of his muscled, alabaster skin. After pulling off his shirt and tossing it to the ground, he stood up and eased his trousers off, followed quickly by his briefs. It was rather strange for John to see how shamelessly and easily Sherlock stripped down, and he couldn't help but wonder if The Woman's nickname for him was entirely accurate.

"Truth or dare?" Sherlock asked, still remaining in his standing position. John's eyes traced up and down his body. "Uh..." He tore his eyes away from Sherlock's form and raised them to his eyes. "Do you even have to ask anymore?" He chuckled. "I dare you to strip for me." Sherlock replied, holding his gaze. Their innocent game of truth and dare had quickly deteriorated into something far smuttier, though neither of them seemed to mind.

John stood up and pulled his jumper over his head in one swift motion, letting it drop to the ground with the same carelessness that Sherlock had with his clothes. His stomach was a bundle of anxious nerves at the moment, but he banished those thoughts in order to focus on the task at hand. He pulled off his shirt next, showing his tan chest. He hooked his fingers in the hem of his trousers and pulled them off quickly. He moved his hands to the waistband of his red pants, looking hesitantly up at Sherlock, who nodded.

A second later, they were both standing there nude in front of each other. Their eyes met and they were just looking at each other, ignoring the fact that they were nude and simply appreciating their silent agreement as to what was going to happen between them. Seemingly in sync, their eyes trailed down each other's bodies- John was just looking at Sherlock's body, memorizing each inch. Sherlock was analyzing, marking each possible erogenous zone, committing John's body to the wall of fame in his mind palace.

John wasn't quite sure what exactly happened next, and in his memory, he could recall it only as a whirlwind of skin, lips, and teeth, on him everywhere. He was pushed back into the couch, Sherlock straddling his hips, their erections touching and causing friction and electricity. John tried to move, to return Sherlock's motions, but his wrists were pinned to the back of the couch with large, strong hands before he could do anything. He still wasn't sure how they had gone from standing to this sudden, erotic display.

Sherlock pressed kisses and bites all over John- on his collarbone, his cheeks, his ears, his chest. His cupid's bow lips trailed all along his torso,all teeth and kisses and tongue. He trailed lower, to John's hips, nipping at the bones there. John was gasping and writhing, not used to not being the one 'on top'. The dark haired man's lips were next around John's cock, swiftly and smoothly. John dug his nails into the cushions of the couch, a moan escaping his lips.

What followed was by far the hottest thing that John had ever experienced. The famous detective, Sherlock Holmes, on his knees in front of John, his perfect lips wrapped around John's erect cock, applying powerful suction with hollowed out cheeks. The sight alone brought John to the edge. He could hardly bring himself to do anything other than tangle his hand in Sherlock's curly dark hair. "God, Sherlock." He breathed. Sherlock chuckled, sending vibrations down John's shaft. At the slight vibrations, John moaned Sherlock's name loudly- he was going to come any second now. Sherlock swirled his tongue around John's cock, which was what did it for him. With a cry, John came in Sherlock's mouth and practically melted against the cushions.

Sherlock stood up and swallowed, licking his lips and looking at John's heavily breathing body with satisfaction. "Bedroom?" He asked. John nodded vaguely and got up on shaky legs, picking up the clothing on the floor. Sherlock wrapped an arm around John and they walked into his bedroom, falling onto the bed and onto each other in mere seconds. Sherlock pulled a bottle of lotion off of his bedside table and poured a bit onto his long fingers, glancing over at John, who adjusted himself facedown on the bed. Sherlock strode over to him and lubed him up eagerly, if not a bit roughly. He climbed on top of John and placed his hands on the backs of his shoulders, then thrust himself into the blonde.

It was passionate, and in a way, desperate. Sherlock was not a man of touch, or any fluffy sort of feeling. The touches he received or gave were violent, not sensitive and sweet. He would occasionally dream or fantasize about touches that were soft and kind, gentle, smooth. He needed this, a night of love and lust and passion, one that could remind him that not all contact was angry. John, on the other hand, needed this because he loved. He loved Sherlock, in so many different ways, but had never thought that he would love him in this way. He needed to recover from falling head over heels in love- this night would help him on his feet, tell him that his feelings were returned.

And the next morning, after the snowstorm had passed and gave way to bright white streets and sidewalks, the sun drifted through the window to Sherlock's room, revealing two completely spent men, tangled together in an impossible mess of sheets underneath a large comforter, their foreheads pressed together and noses touching each other, silence in the moments before they woke up that would surely be filled with moans and noises of enjoyment of one another.


End file.
